The Fickle Hand of Fate
by Aisling-Siobhan
Summary: Harry Potter died in 1981, but in 1993 Harry finally arrives at Hogwarts. No one seems to know he should be dead, except Dumbledore, who stole someone else's son to replace the Boy-Who-Didn't-Live. AU SiriusBarty. LVHP preslash.
1. Chapter 1 of 4

"The Fickle Hand of Fate"

**Disclaimer: ** Harry Potter is property of JK Rowling, Bloomsbury, Warner Bros, et all. I make no money from this and I own nothing, don't sue.

**Summary: ** [LV/HP] Harry Potter died in 1981, but in 1993 Harry finally arrives at Hogwarts. No one seems to know he should be dead, except Dumbledore, who stole someone else's son to replace the Boy-Who-Didn't-Live.

**Warnings: ** Slash. Sirius/Barty Jr. AU. Pre-Slash LV/HP. Violence. Character Death. Azkaban. Manipulative Dumbledore.

**Rating: ** NC-17.

**A/N**: There will be four parts. I'm not promising that they will all be long, or all short, or otherwise, but there will be four. And there MIGHT be a sequel… But there might not be.

_XXX_

**Words: **2,058

**Chapter 1/4**

Albus frowned as he looked around. His mouth was turned down, his forehead and eyes heavily lined. The ever present twinkle in his bright, blue eyes was missing, as he gazed across the room in horror.

They had managed to stop the fire, but the evidence of its existence lived on, proven by the blacked walls and the soot on the ground and the ceiling that was caving in around them. Furniture and possessions had already been devoured by the flames, and what was left of them was unrecognizable.

James' body had been sprawled by the front door, wand still clenched in his hand, his eyes wide open and mouth set in a determined line. He hadn't even had time to be afraid before Lord Voldemort had struck him down.

Lily was found in their son's bedroom. Her eyes were frozen forever in horror and her mouth was open in a silent scream. Her red hair spread around her head like a halo, and Albus sighed again, leaning down to press his fingers to her eyelids and pull them shut. He kept accidentally meeting her eyes and each time he did a horrid clenching feeling would overcome him and his stomach would roll and he would remember how terrible he had felt while watching Arianna fall lifeless to the floor, unsure whether or not he had been the one to kill her. He had still been responsible somehow for her death though; in some small way he had contributed to the murder of his own sister. And similarly Albus Dumbledore could not help but believe he had killed the Potters too. He had cast the _Fidelius Charm_ after all, he had picked the secret keeper, and unless they had changed secret keepers without telling him it was _his_ fault that Sirius Black had betrayed them.

Albus closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and opened them again, taking one hesitant step towards the overturned cot at the back of the room. The window above it was open, and smoke from the fire wafted through the room buffeted by the wind that was blowing in. There was no sound in the room but for Albus' breathing. And the unheard, anxious beating of his heart.

He reached out, his fingers gnarled and wrinkled with age, and he peeled back the soft fleece baby blanket that hid a small lump in the middle of the over turned mattress. Harry didn't move or make a sound. He lay curled in a ball, right where he had fallen when Voldemort shot the Killing Curse at him. Harry's hair smelt of smoke and when Albus reached to down to pick him up ashes fluttered to the ground. The three Aurors who were waiting in the threshold gasped, eyes wide and mouths moving without sounds, as they looked from one another and back to Albus.

"Is he dead?" One asked, breathless.

Albus used one hand to trace the fresh cut on Harry's forehead. It was shaped like a lightning bolt, and the blood had clotted around it, making it look worse than it really was. It wasn't what had killed him Albus knew. Neighbours had mentioned that Harry had been screaming, crying as if he were in terrible pain or anguish for a while after the explosion had torn apart the upper level of the cottage. None of them had dared entered the house to check on the boy, not after seeing Death Eaters flee from the scene, especially since no one saw Lord Voldemort leave the house.

"You have Medi-Wizard training, do you not, young man?" Albus asked one of the younger Aurors without turning around. The man, merely little more than a teenager really, came forward slowly with his wand outstretched. He waved it over Harry's small body, mumbling spells and incantations under his breath and then he lowered his wand, his fingers numb with shock. It fell, rolling across the ground, and his hand flew up to cover his mouth. He looked to Albus. Dumbledore looked back and raised one white, bushy eyebrow. "Well, young man?" He asked.

"He was hit with the Killing Curse." The young Auror waited a moment, waited until his co-workers had stopped gulping in fright, and then he added, "He didn't die from the Killing Curse. He died from smoke inhalation."

The other two Aurors gasped again, muttering in shock and excitement to one another. Albus stayed quiet, rocking Harry's dead body lightly in his arms. The boy had defeated Lord Voldemort, the darkest Wizard of their time. The child had survived, the child should have lived. His neighbours had stood by and allowed the Boy-Who-Should-Have-Lived to die a slow and cruel death; they had listened to him suffer and had done nothing for fear that Voldemort might still have been alive within the home. They had let him die.

They had all failed him.

Albus opened his mouth, still trying to think of something to say when suddenly a silver, shimmery lynx came flying in through the open window above Harry's overturned cot.

"Albus," the Patronus said, its mouth not moving at all, and yet Kingsley Shacklebolt's voice escaped it. "Sybil has said something worrying. We need to speak, quickly. It's about a prophecy. There is another prophecy child, this time though he'll be the 'Dark Lord's equal', though I don't know if it means Harry as well or not. She mentioned something about Black."

Albus watched the Patronus disintegrate in front of him, turning to mist and vapour and then disappearing altogether. He thought about Kingsley's message. Could it have meant Harry? Then what did Black have to do with anything? He was Harry's godfather, but also his betrayer, and there were many, many others from the House of Black still living. Could Sirius have been raising a child in secret, hiding him all this time, teaching him to covet the Dark? Albus scowled at the thought. To think, he had trusted the man, he had loved him as he had loved James as a son, in fact. And to have been betrayed in the end, to have been lied to, it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He had to move fast. He needed to meet with Kingsley and discuss this new prophecy child because it couldn't be Harry. Harry had been dead as Sybil Trelawney made her second true prophecy.

But… But, he thought, until their new Saviour was found, he needed to keep this mess a secret.

"_Obliviate_!" He cried, the Elder Wand pointed at the youngest Auror in the group. "_Obliviate! Obliviate!_" He cried twice more, pointing his wand at each of the others. "Harry Potter is alive. He has gone to live with his remaining family and he is perfectly safe. You were just about to start making your reports."

The eldest Auror, a woman, shook her head lightly. "Where was I?" She asked, sounding snappish. "Right, Potter defeated You-Know-Who. Sir, what have you got there?" She asked suddenly, turning on Dumbledore as he was about to slip out of the room.

Harry was clutched against his chest, half hidden beneath the bright orange cloak he wore. "I was just about to deliver young Harry to his aunt. Poor mite, he's been through enough tonight don't you agree?"

"Right, right," she agreed, blushing slightly, "take him along. The poor dear, he must be knackered!"

Albus left, presumably to visit Number 4, Little Whinging where Lily's sister was living with her husband and her own child. But, in fact, Albus went outside, through the kissing gate, and beyond the small grove of trees where a line of grey gravestones greeted him silently. He traced each name with his eyes, running from Ignotus Peverell, all the way to Arianna Dumbledore, and Albus knew that beside those stones would soon lie 'Lily and James Potter'. He waved his wand, and a clump of dirt rose into the air, more than enough dirt to hide a body of Harry's size. He laid the child in the makeshift grave, close to where his parents would soon rest, and covered him up quickly. With a heavy heart he walked away, glancing once more over his shoulder and offering a silent apology for the child whose death would never be acknowledged.

The world needed a Saviour.

Albus Dumbledore needed to find a new Harry Potter.

_XXX_

When Sirius had heard of his friends' deaths, he had almost gone mad with grief. Then he was overcome with rage, so much rage that his vision blurred and tinted grey and black at the edges. He felt dizzy and numb and stricken as Hagrid told him, standing outside of the ruined cottage in Godric's Hollow, both of them shaking and sobbing, but Hagrid could never truly feel what Sirius was feeling.

They wouldn't tell him where Harry was. They wouldn't even tell him if Harry was safe.

No one but Hagrid would even speak to him, and he didn't know why. So he left, he went to search for Peter Pettigrew; Peter, the secret keeper that Sirius had suggested they switch to without telling anyone, wary of being captured, wary of anyone telling Voldemort. How was he supposed to have known that Peter was a Death Eater for all of these years, even while Harry was barely more than two cells in Lily's womb, how could Sirius have known that Peter had betrayed them all?

Now it was time for Peter to pay for his sins.

Only, when Sirius finally managed to find Peter, he was ready, more ready for the fight than Sirius was. And Sirius was left, reeling, surrounded by the bodies of thirteen dead Muggles and a street that was little more than rubble and burst water pipes, and a consignment of Aurors with their wands trained solely on him.

"Stop right there, Death Eater scum!" One screamed at him, the same boy who the day before had pronounced Harry Potter dead, forgotten about it, and then hailed him a Saviour and survivor all in ten minutes. "Drop your wand."

Sirius did.

He wasn't a Death Eater, he knew that. He didn't have a mark on his left arm and he would never have betrayed his _real_ family, and all he needed was ten or twenty minutes in front of an audience to prove as much. So he went willingly, laughing to himself at how easy it would be for the truth to be proven, how simple it would be to convince the others to help him track Peter down, how sweet it would be to watch a Dementor kiss Peter's soul away. But in the end, Sirius laughed, hysterical and un-amused, at how easy it was for them to send him to Azkaban for life without even mentioning, not once, what it was he was supposed to have done wrong.

He found himself in a cell, barely the size of a storeroom, perhaps smaller. You'd fit three people inside at once, but it certainly wouldn't be a comfortable fit, and Sirius praised his lucky stars (what luck he had left, at least) that he got a cell to himself. He was dressed in Azkaban grey and black stripped robes, his feet in socks and no shoes, and his shoulder length hair loose around his face.

Grey eyes narrowed, and his breath fogged in front of his face, and Sirius straightened his spine and took a deep breath, then changed into his Animagus form – that of a large black Grim – just as a group of Dementors swarmed around the corner and down the hallway. And then they were on him, arms reaching through the bars of his cell, fingers scrabbling for his robes, and hideous mouths open wide, hoping, hopeful that Sirius would get close enough for them to kiss.

But he sat there, a great dog-like creature, as black as night, half hidden by his prison robes, and his legs trembled before giving out beneath him. And so he lay there, half hidden, trembling, as he relived his worst memories: though the effect was not as strong as the last time he had faced a Dementor as a human.

With his eyes closed, with his heart in his throat, Sirius prayed that Harry was safe… and that someone would come to save him soon.

**XXX**

Yeah I'm practically finished with Uni now, but I've applied for a full time position where I work (part time) as someone is leaving. But I doubt I'll get it. If I do, it means less writing time since I still need to focus on my thesis, at least until August. Regardless I have… about 7 one shots planned and then, of course, **Through the Looking Glass** as well. I'll get around to them all eventually.

There are three more parts of this to go. They'll probably get longer.


	2. Chapter 2 of 4

**New warning**: mpreg (because I forgot it last chapter, oops). This would have been up earlier except my friend arrived to pick me up. We went to see 'Water For Elephants'. I liked it.

**Words: **3,682

**Chapter 2/4**

Sirius heard them before he saw them.

Four Aurors were walking towards his cell, their feet scuffling against the floor as they dragged somebody between them. That somebody was laughing, hissing threats and insults at them, and struggling to break free of their hold. The sounds of their movements, the rustling of their clothing and their feet scrapping along the dirty floor, captured Sirius' attention before he had even caught a glimpse of Azkaban's newest resident.

It must have been someone interesting, Sirius thought, someone dangerous. Most of the regular Death Eaters that had been captured had been enclosed in another part of the prison. Sirius' sector was reserved for the Dark Lord's most loyal; the most dangerous; the most vicious. Sirius wondered what the man had done, for it was a man, and not a very old one Sirius concluded just from the timbre of the prisoner's voice. And then he came into view and Sirius couldn't stop himself from gaping at the sight.

It was his old boss's son! Bartemius Jr, Barty's son. Barty Sr. had been head of the Auror Division, and the last time Sirius had seen him the elder Wizard had been planning to run for Minister. How could his son be a Death Eater? The Crouch family was a good family, a Light to neutral family, there had never been a Dark Wizard in their line, ever. Barty himself had proudly proclaimed as such at every possible opportunity, and again after Sirius' capture because of course Sirius hailed from a long line of Dark Wizards and it was to be expected that eventually he would betray those he loved.

His hands clenched at his sides, as he remembered. He didn't like to think about that time. It had barely been a month, or maybe it had been two? Sirius spent the majority of his time in his Animagus form and so the days tended to blur together, nothing significant ever happened unless you counted the Dementors visiting him daily, sometimes twice a day and sometimes not at all, to confuse him or throw him completely off of his day count, until he was disorientated and dazed and unsure how long exactly he had been trapped within his hell.

His cell door swung open, and Sirius snapped himself out of his reminiscing, narrowing his eyes at the waiting Aurors.

"Other cells are full," one Wizard spat at him, mouth turned down. "Afraid you'll have to share, scum."

"You know what they say?" Another asked as he bodily shoved Barty Jr into the cell. "Birds of a feather, and all." They locked the cell again, turning their back on the two prisoners and walking away. They left them there, abandoned, ignored even as Bartemius screamed after them, proclaiming his innocence.

"That won't work. I've tried it myself." Sirius murmured at his cell mate. The boy was on his knees, facing Sirius but with his head hanging now. He couldn't have been more than eighteen or nineteen; nineteen, Sirius remembered, having heard the father boasting on his son's last birthday. "What did you do anyway?"

"Went looking for the Dark Lord," Barty whispered. His arm came up and he rubbed at his face and his runny nose with the back of his dirty sleeve. "They tricked me. They said that Longbottom would know where our Lord was," he said, because he thought that Sirius was likewise a Death Eater, "but they didn't. And I got caught with them, while they tortured Longbottom and his wife. I didn't do it though, but they wouldn't listen. My father wouldn't listen." His lips curled back into a sneer, and he looked up at Sirius and met his grey eyes steadily. "My _Lord_ was more of a father to me than my father ever was. When did you join our cause?" Barty whispered eyes wide with curiosity.

"I didn't." Sirius told him softly, simply. "I really am innocent." He changed then, shifting bone and flesh and muscle into the shape of a large black Grim. The animal walked slowly back to the corner of the cell that it had claimed as its bedroom, the robe that Sirius had been wearing during his arrest was thrown haphazardly onto the floor. The trousers he had been wearing moments ago was dragged along in the Grim's mouth and dumped on top of the robe. Sirius sat on top of the clothes, nuzzling them until they were pulled half over him.

When the Dementors came, Barty was still watching Sirius in curious silence and Sirius was half-hidden beneath the pile of clothing and half-protected by his currently animal mind. Barty wasn't so lucky.

Within the first minute, the boy was screaming and begging and crying. Sirius watched him out of the one eye that wasn't obscured by his trouser leg, feeling a mix of pity and satisfaction at the child's suffering; this child, who still served the man who had murdered Sirius' real family. But who was still a child. Bartemius screamed for his mother continuously those first few days, wailing and pleading inconsolably, uncontrollably, and Sirius refused to change back into a human. The guards never came to feed them because the Dementors refused to leave their newest plaything, and none of them noticed the lack of Sirius Black within his cell.

It hadn't even been a week before Barty finally grew silent and solemn. He still cried when the Dementors passed by, but when the screams stopped the Dementors mostly lost interest in him.

Until the day Barty's mother came to visit him. Sirius huddled at the back of the cell, human and gaunt-looking, and Barty was too busy desperately trying to fit himself through the bars of the cell so that he could hug his mother to mention anything about Sirius' secret abilities. His mother had loved him, still did, that much was obvious. But then Bartemius Sr. appeared, his face marred by a scowl and his body tense and he calmly pulled his wife away from their only child, who had once more begun to cry and beg, wailing for mercy, pleading his innocence, only to be ignored. His father turned towards him, mouth open, just as Sirius shuffled forward, pulling Barty back against his chest. He rocked the teenager, the child who had been condemned to suffer forever for caring about someone other than his real family, the way Sirius had always thought of the elder Potters' as his true parents. Barty calmed down in his arms, clinging desperately to Sirius' neck and shoulders, crying silently against his cheek. The Witch looked at them, heartbroken and with tears in her eyes, but her husband merely scowled harder, closed his mouth and dragged her out of view.

Sirius found that holding the boy helped calm him immensely. So, now, whenever the Dementors passed and Barty started screaming, the Grim would shuffle forward, large enough to wrap himself around Barty when the man was curled up on himself. A paw would land on Barty's shoulder, and the boy would twist and turn until his face was pressed to the dog's throat, and he would hold on tightly, shaking and sobbing until the Dementors lost interest and passed them by.

It was Yule when things between them changed: exactly two months after the Potters' had been killed, three weeks after Barty had arrived. They slept on separate sides of the cell usually, unless the Dementors were around in which case they huddled together, Sirius attempting to protect the younger Wizard, telling himself that if it was Harry in Barty's position that he would want someone, anyone, to protect his godson. He told himself Barty's mother would appreciate the gesture, the attempt even though Sirius couldn't do much, and even though Sirius should hate this Death Eater with everything in him, he couldn't help but see someone's child, someone who was loved. Like Harry should have been.

The very human Sirius lay on the ground, his trousers folded beneath his head and his robes thrown over him like a blanket. Barty had seen him naked plenty of times after a shift from Grim to human and so Sirius had stopped feigning modesty, not that he had had much to begin with anyway. Barty was a little more humble, choosing to keep all of his clothes on at all times, curling on the ground in a ball and shivering from the cold with nothing to use as a blanket. Sirius had pitied him, considered offering to share, and then pushed the thought away. There was only so much he could bring himself to do for an enemy.

Barty stood, legs trembling with nerves, and he walked the few inches towards Sirius before sinking to his knees at his side. "I got an Outstanding in Defence Against the Dark Arts, you know."

"I know." Sirius whispered in the dark. "Your dad used to brag about what a genius you were."

Barty was silent for a moment, obviously unsure whether or not to believe it to be true. His father had always been too busy working to spend time with his son, even when Barty was very young, and to know his father was still proud of him, should it change anything, he wondered? No, his father had still sent him here. His father had still abandoned him. Sirius Black, Auror, self-appointed Light Wizard, had been the only person to try and help him.

"Dementors can't stand happy emotions, you know." His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, and despite not being able to see clearly, Sirius still stared. "Certain Light magics leave a presence, a taint in the air, I suppose. Like the Patronus, once cast a Dementor won't be able to return to that specific area for at least twenty-four hours because the taint will linger in the area, warding them even though the magic itself has dissipated. Sometimes it's longer depending on the spell."

"Why are you telling me this? We can't use magic here."

"Not wand magic, no," Barty agreed quietly. He lay down beside Sirius, face to face with the Wizard two years his senior, the brother of his only school friend. "But sex magic doesn't require a wand."

Sirius was on his feet in an instant. His hands were balled at his sides and he stared in horror at Barty who merely shifted so that he was lying in the middle of Sirius' pile of ragged clothing.

"What the hell!" Sirius hissed, eyes narrowing.

"You're attractive, you know, and I've been told I'm very pretty on occasion. Surely you could simply pretend I was a girl, or close your eyes, simply to save us both suffering further? We needn't even have penetrative sex to use the magic. Merely a kiss or two if we put enough feeling into it." He was on his feet too then, pushing Sirius back, against the wall and pressing himself closer and closer until there was no space between them. Sirius shoved him backwards, but Barty struggled, pushing closer. Then their lips met, Barty's were desperate and needy and Sirius was insulting the child into his mouth, still trying to push him away, but Barty's desperation made him stronger. Adrenaline surged through his being, empowering him, and he moaned against Sirius' mouth, arms coming up to cling to the man who had tried to protect him repeatedly.

Sirius felt something tingling across his skin, feather-lite but intense, and he reacted instinctively. He shoved Barty away from him, knocking him to the floor, and breathed a sigh of relief as the magic instantly dissipated. The tingling feeling stopped, and Barty looked up at him, cheeks flushed and panting with a wide smirk on his swollen lips.

And just like Barty had said, the Dementors avoided their cell until very late the following evening. For just under twenty hours they were left in peace.

_XXX_

It was nearing the end of January when they first slept together. They had gotten used to the Dementors leaving them alone for hours at a time after they shared furious kisses, and then for days after Barty had pinned Sirius down and happily sucked him to orgasm.

"I want the peace to last longer. Please!" Barty had begged, eyes hooded and a blush staining his cheeks. "And it would give us more happy memories," he murmured, ignoring Sirius' snort at the words, "also… well, there are worse people to lose my virginity to. Imagine if I got lumped into a cell with one of the others? I could guess it wouldn't be as pleasant." He turned his face away, ignoring the way Sirius was staring at him.

Virgin?

The word rocketed through Sirius' brain, loud and continuous. He had been barely more than a child when he had been thrown into Azkaban and at Hogwarts Barty had been a brilliant student but a quiet boy who had kept to himself. He only had Regulus as a friend, and Sirius knew for a fact that his brother was straight, so his only friend couldn't have been Barty's lover. He had never been seen with any of the girls in the school either. None of the other boys spoke to him outside of classes. It would be possible, almost completely truthful, but the idea of Sirius being his first, regardless of whether Barty was lying or not made something coil and clench within his stomach. Unable to stop himself, Sirius surged forward, pinning Barty against the cell wall and kissed him.

It was the first time Sirius had seen the boy naked. He was beautiful, almost feminine, with a slim torso and waist and long, shapely legs, but his cock stood to attention proudly, most definitely male.

Sirius kissed him again, this time hovering over him as Barty lay spread out across the dirty floor.

"This will hurt," Sirius told him after spiting into his hand and using the saliva to prepare the boy's entrance, stretching the hole wider and wider until Barty was thrashing and begging for more.

"Now," Barty demanded, his breath coming in short pants. And then Sirius was pushing against him, into him, and his breath caught completely, expelling as a short, pained moan as Sirius buried himself completely within his arse. "Oh!" Barty gasped, body tense, his back throbbing lightly already, and he fought against the instinct to push Sirius off of him. He had asked for this after all.

Sirius moved, pulling back slowly and pushing in again. Barty gave a soft cry as Sirius' cock dragged lightly against his prostate, and again, and again, until Barty was seeing stars. The teenager clung tightly to his lover – a lover, he had a lover now, he had someone who wanted him and cared about him perhaps, though not as much as Barty had grown to care about Sirius – moaning and thrusting in time with each of Sirius' movements. When they came, they came together, clinging to one another and gasping the others' names, sinking to the floor in a tangle of limbs and mingled breaths.

The Dementors didn't come that night, or the night after, but that didn't stop Sirius from pinning Barty back down on the floor again. Even without the threat of the Dementors visiting them, Sirius hurriedly undressed the teenager the next night. He prepared him and took him, spread out on the floor of their Azkaban cell, while the other prisoners listened to their cries.

_XXX_

Bartemius had been getting sick for a while before Sirius begun to understand what was happening. A week of vomiting was normal considering the food they served in the hellhole; Sirius himself had gotten sick his first week in Azkaban, from hunger and dehydration and then from the moldy, rotten taste of the food he was eventually given. But after three weeks of continuous sickness, beginning in February and continuing into March, Sirius had started to worry.

"Do you have any other symptoms?" He asked, rubbing a hand lightly over Barty's narrow back. In his mind's eye, he could see James doing the same thing to Lily as she hovered above the kitchen sink one morning, just before they told him about Harry. "Tenderness on your chest or your stomach? Cramps? Sore ankles? Dizziness? Anything?"

"Yes," Barty wheezed, wiping his mouth in disgust. "All of them, but how did you know?" He turned, looking curious and also afraid. "Is there something wrong with me?" His skin was pale and sweaty, but as Sirius looked at him, thought about what was happening to Barty, what was growing inside of Barty more specifically, he couldn't help but think that the Death Eater (Dark Mark and all) was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"You're pregnant," he said simply, running a hand through his matted hair.

Barty's mouth dropped open. He closed it, frowned, and then said, "But I'm in Azkaban! And we're not married!" His hands moved to clasp over his stomach, and he watched Sirius with wide eyes. "They'll take the baby from us," he whispered after a moment, looking mournful.

"Better that than force you to abort it," Sirius told him, scowling. "We'll have to hide it for as long as possible. They can't keep us here forever, eventually one of us will get out and find the baby, and they won't send the child anywhere it'll be hurt. They won't blame the child for its parentage, the baby will be safe and loved and we'll find them eventually."

"And they'll exist," Barty agreed. He reached forward, squeezing Sirius' hand before placing both of his back over his belly. "Are you excited? I think I'm excited. I never thought I'd want children."

"I think I'm in shock," Sirius said with a chuckle, shaking his head lightly. "But yeah, I think I'm glad this happened. No, I know I am. I'm just disappointed we won't be the ones to raise him or her."

_XXX_

When the baby came, he was almost three months early, born on the 31st of July at one minute to midnight.

"Harry was born then," Sirius whispered, as he held the child against his chest, "that's my godson's name."

Barty was lying on the floor, his head in Sirius' lap. They had called for help, and three guards had rushed towards them, hearing the screaming and then the silence before the wailing of a baby broke it. Children didn't happen in Azkaban, although there had been one woman twenty years ago who had died giving birth alone in her cell. But Bartemius had been lucky, the child was premature and smaller than he should have been, and the labour was easy, but now the baby needed help. The guards watched in stunned silence, eyes on the whimpering bundle in Sirius' arms. Barty had stroked his son's cheek after the birth, tracing his small face and waiting for his eyes to open, before handing him to his father for naming.

"Cepheus Bartemius Black," Sirius had said, deciding at last what to name his son. "He's going to be a heartbreaker when he's older." Barty had closed his eyes, a frown on his face at the thought that he wouldn't be there to see it or to watch his son grow, but he knew giving him up was the only way. Cepheus would die if he stayed in Azkaban: he needed a Healer and potions and magic to help him develop outside of Barty's body. And Azkaban was no place for a child.

The guards took the baby, wrapped in Barty's shirt, and locked the cell door behind them.

Barty was brought out for a quick medical examination, but by the time he was brought back hours had passed by. There was something different about him; something wrong with him. He was sweating and shaking, whereas before he had only been tired. And he kept mumbling to himself as he lay upon the floor, staring wildly around the cell.

"I have a grandson," he whispered, looking up at Sirius' with watery, glazed eyes. "You gave me a grandson."

Eyes closing in realization, Sirius cursed himself for noticing Bartemius Sr. hovering in the background behind the guards and not being more suspicious. Whoever this was, this wasn't Barty. Barty was gone, hopefully free, and this person was dying in his place. Perhaps the child had gone with them, to be loved and cared for by his real family, his mother and grandfather. But Sirius doubted it. Taking in the child of two supposed Death Eaters didn't seem like the kind of thing Crouch Sr. would do.

_XXX_

Petunia Dursley nee Evans opened her front door three days later.

Cepheus had been released from St Mungos into Albus Dumbledore's care, after the man produced a forged letter from a Muggle hospital claiming that the child was Harry Potter, his legal ward. The boy had been born at the same time on the same date as Harry Potter, only two years later. In Albus' mind, that couldn't have been a coincidence.

Petunia glanced down at the sleeping bundle of a new-born child. There was a note pinned to the blanket he was wrapped in, and under his head someone had tucked Barty's tattered shirt.

_Lily's son_, the letter had said. _Very ill, very delicate_, it had added, and Petunia could see that. But there was no way it could be her nephew. He was too young, and it had been stupid of those Wizards to believe that a woman who had borne her own child wouldn't recognize that _this_ child was not two years old. He could barely be a week old, if that, Petunia thought with a scowl.

Her sister had been dead for years. And so had her child.

But Petunia gathered the baby into her arms anyway and carried him inside. Hopefully he was a normal child. And even if he wasn't, he was still a helpless baby. For now, she would take care of him, because he wasn't Lily's, because he wasn't James': he just was.

**XXX**

Some of the Barty information was 'misinterpreted' from Sirius' talk with Harry, Ron and Hermione in **Goblet of Fire**. But, obviously, this is AU.

Also, Cepheus (SEE-fee-us) meaning "King" is also a constellation, so it's following in the Black tradition. Sirius, as the father, traditionally would be the one to name the child.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. Hopefully the ending to this one answers the previous questions about 'Harry'. Let me know what you thought!


	3. Chapter 3 of 4

OMG I got like 12 hours sleep last night/this morning! It was amazing. I feel amazing! I've been living off of 4, 5, or 6 hours sleep a night for weeks, and omg I feel amazing! So here is a new chapter to celebrate how NOT exhausted I feel right now!

**Words: ** 4,365

**Chapter 3/4**

Sirius had long ago grown used to the Azkaban guards standing outside of his cell and staring at him. Some of the shouted at him, jeering him and goading him, though he never reacted anymore. Some actually spoke to him, asking after his child, the child he had never known; to those people Sirius would simply stare silently until they left, because after all, how was he supposed to tell them about the child when he knew nothing about him? For all Sirius knew, the boy had grown up never knowing his real parents, never knowing his real name, in an orphanage or home or somewhere. He would be starting his first year of Hogwarts though, Sirius knew, if his new family allowed him to attend.

There was someone outside of his cell again, and the clearing of his throat brought Sirius out of his thoughts. It was the ones who stared at him with smirks on their lips that bothered Sirius the most. Those who were 'important', thought they were better than him, and came just to rub that fact into his face. Cornelius Fudge was one of those people.

Lucius Malfoy was too, under normal circumstances. But when Lucius had arrived eleven years ago, he had stared silently through the bars of Sirius' cell, his hands trembling slightly from the Dementors that hovered nearby. "My wife tells me your family elf visited her." Lucius waited for a reply. But Sirius said nothing; he didn't know what Lucius wanted him to say, or do, or confess. "It appears congratulations are in order, though I have no idea how the conception occurred," Lucius added lowly, looking around the cell for another inmate, the one who would have carried and birthed the child. But Bartemius Jr. had been buried and gone for over two weeks now, and so he wasn't there for Lucius to stare at.

"Do you know where he is?" Sirius asked his voice raspy and hoarse.

"You did not send him to us." Lucius accused, his eyes narrowing. "Are we not family, cousin?"

"They took him. They came into the cell and just took him. They didn't ask his name or our wishes, and they took him. Do you know where he is?" Sirius stood, shakily walking towards the door of his cell and he peered through at Lucius, fingers gripping the bars.

"No. No one has so much as mentioned his existence. I only know because your house elf spotted 'Cepheus Black' on the Black family tapestry and told my wife." Lucius of course didn't mention that 'Bartemius Crouch' had appeared above the child's name, sewn onto the fabric in pale grey thread, denoting the man as a mistress rather than a spouse. The child was a bastard, but it was still a child of two long lines of Pureblood ancestry, and one who had been forcefully removed from either family's protection. "If I find him, I will protect him."

It was more than Sirius had ever expected more than he could contemplate. Lucius Malfoy, protecting a bastard heir. Though, there was no Regulus to father children and Sirius wouldn't be having any more anytime soon, and so Lucius' son would seize the Black fortune until Sirius died and Harry inherited everything through his will. Though, of course, Harry was dead.

Sirius stayed silent as the Lucius of his memory drifted out of sight, and he turned his attention back to the present. Fudge was rabbiting on about something; no doubt how much of a disgrace Sirius was, or some other. But now, Sirius' attention was on the newspaper that Fudge held folded up in his right hand. There was a full family photo of the Weasleys on the front page, and though there were two more children than Sirius remembered there being, there was no mistaking Arthur or Molly. They had won a holiday, Sirius read. In a raffle, and they had brought the whole family along, including their pet rat.

"Peter…" Sirius whispered, staring at the moving photograph of the rat with one claw missing that was curled up calmly on Ronald Weasley's shoulder. He was a third year Gryffindor, Sirius continued to read, as the _Prophet_ had included a semi-biography of each Weasley. Ron would be in Harry's year, perhaps even Harry's dormitory, because of course Harry would be in Gryffindor like his parents.

"Harry!" Sirius suddenly shouted. "Can I have that?" He asked, reaching through the bars to snatch the paper before Fudge could answer him. Harry was alone at Hogwarts with Peter Pettigrew, with no one who knew Peter was alive, and no one to protect him from that Death Eater. Harry had been there for two years already, Sirius thought, and who knows what Peter might have already done to him.

"I need to get to Harry!" Sirius told the Minister. "I need to find Harry Potter…" he trailed off, thinking again about how much he wanted to hurt Wormtail, how desperately he wanted to watch the life leaving Peter's eyes. "Need to kill him," he hissed, eyes fixed upon the moving photograph once more. All of the photographed Weasleys slid away from Ron, and Ronald looked rather nervous for a picture, his hand anxiously stroking over Wormtail's back. "Die," Sirius muttered, his finger stabbing over Wormtail's face.

Cornelius Fudge looked alarmed. His face turned a horrible shade of grey and he began to back away from the cell. "He's crazy," Fudge whispered to the waiting guards. "He just threatened Harry Potter!"

"Don't worry! Potter is still with his family, he's safe. Black will never find him in Surrey!" They all froze for a moment, wondering if Sirius had overheard them, but the prisoner was still focused on his newspaper.

"I heard he was going to Hogwarts this year though," another Wizard said, shrugging his shoulders.

"Thought he was too sick to go?" The Minister for Magic asked, remembering the excuses Dumbledore had told the world in 1991 when Harry Potter failed to disembark the Hogwarts Express. They had checked the platform for him, the train, Hogsmeade, the Black Lake, the Forbidden Forest, and the castle grounds, but Harry Potter wasn't there. He hadn't gone to Hogwarts for his first year.

"Oh he's better now. But he'll be starting in his first year, you know, since he was too ill to be home schooled as well. Poor kid," the guard added, unaware that Sirius Black was staring avidly at the back of his head, "he'll be so much older than his classmates."

It was two weeks later when Sirius' cell was discovered to be empty. The newspaper was left on the ground, and the part that had been Ron and his pet rat was completely scratched away, leaving only a hole that carried on through several layers of pages. Obviously the Aurors were rather worried. Black was free. He had threatened Harry Potter, and he obviously had some kind of vendetta against Ronald Weasley, and to make matters worse, both boys would be in the same place at the same time for the next school year. But it would be easy to capture Sirius Black at Hogwarts, they all thought.

Though Sirius didn't go to Hogwarts.

He went to Surrey.

_XXX_

"Harry!" A woman called, her voice high pitched and angry. "What did you think you were doing?"

A small looking eleven year old warily came into view. His cousin continued to hide behind the sofa, but Harry popped his head up, his hair covering his scarless forehead and his green eyes. They were the wrong shade of green to be Lily's, but Barty Jr's mother had eyes that colour and that was likely where Harry had inherited them from. He didn't know anything about his real parents, except that he had been stolen from them, because honestly what kind of person gives their child up willingly to be passed off as someone elses? He knew he wasn't the son of Lily and James Potter, and he knew he wasn't actually thirteen years old either, no matter what the letter from Hogwarts had said.

"I'm sorry, aunt Petunia," he whispered.

But he did know that these people were his family now, and while his uncle Vernon was sometimes a bit short with him, Harry didn't mind because he knew they loved him. His cousin was a terrible influence though, always insisting that Harry tagged along on his adventures because Harry didn't really have many friends of his own, so Dudley's friends had to suffice. But that usually led to situations like this, where Harry got in trouble and Dudley stayed hidden, content to let his younger cousin take the blame.

"You know I only get angry because I worry about you, Harry!" Petunia said, diving forward to pull him into a hug. She glanced down over the back of the sofa and scowled. "Dudley Dursley get up off of the floor this minute! How on earth do you expect me to take you into Diagon Alley looking like you've been rolling in filth, hmm? Or would you rather stay home alone, hmm?"

"Sorry mum," Dudley muttered, looking rather contrite. He pulled himself up off of the floor, and brushed himself down, blowing fair hair out of his face at the same time. "But it was Harry's idea!"

"I'm sure it was," Petunia added with an amused smile, well used to this kind of behaviour and knowing it was her own child that usually started all of the trouble. "But the both of you should know better than to climb up onto the roof!"

"We didn't climb!" Dudley added excitedly, "Harry magiced us up there. It was awesome."

"We had to climb down though," Harry added, shrugging modestly at his aunt's stunned gaze. He had always found it easy to use magic; it just came to him, whenever he wanted it to do something, something happened, whenever he needed it, it was there at the tip of his fingers waiting to be utilized. He didn't need a wand to access his magic, but Petunia insisted he should buy one anyway, just for show at School, in case anyone noticed.

But he was the saviour of the Wizarding World, Harry thought to himself, so shouldn't he be more powerful than the average school child?

They called him Harry, but that wasn't his name. He had turned up on their doorstep in a baby-grow and a basket, with a blanket tucked over him and a shirt tucked beneath his head. The shift's label had been stitched with the words "B. Crouch" on it, his mother having owned it and kept it under his prison robes for a year. Harry assumed that Crouch was his surname, unless some bleeding heart had donated that shirt to him and then left him lying on a doorstep in the middle of the night. Harry didn't know what his real name was, but he was the legal heir to the Potter fortune, so he didn't feel guilty addressing himself as 'Harry Potter'. He was happy to claim Harry's family as his own, and Harry's home, and Harry's memory, because he had no knowledge of where he had come from so someone else's past was better than nothing.

But he didn't want Harry's legacy.

Someone else could be the saviour of the Wizarding World. While Harry enjoyed the extra power that he obviously had, he had no desire to defeat the Dark Lord Voldemort. From what Harry knew of him, what he had read in books that his aunt had mail ordered for him, Voldemort seemed absolutely brilliant.

_XXX_

Harry had noticed the large black dog that was stalking him two days after Sirius had found him. At first, Padfoot had hidden behind trees and bushes whenever Harry turned around, but eventually he had just sat still, watching and waiting for Harry to scream or attack him, because someone must have warned Harry Potter about the murderer that was after him. But Harry had merely smiled at him, his own head tilted to one side as his tongue flicked out to lick the edge of his mouth.

"Well aren't you an unusual dog," Harry whispered. "You look hungry, but I don't have any food on me. You can follow me home if you like though; I'm heading that way now and dinner should be ready soon." Sirius stood, pushing himself up with his back legs and waited for Harry to lead the way.

By the time Harry was ready to leave for Hogwarts, Sirius had finally realized that this wasn't Harry Potter. He was too young to be Harry Potter. His hair was too curly to have been inherited from James, whose hair was a wild mess, yes, but a straight one. Harry practically had ringlets, much in the same fashion as Regulus used to have. And his eyes were a strange mix of Barty Sr. and his wife's eyes: a lovely shade of green, but so unlike Lily's that Sirius wasn't sure how anyone could mistake this child for Harry.

He might have been mistaken, there was that possibility, but Sirius knew deep within his heart that he had finally found Cepheus. He had found his son. His son was safe and happy and loved, and was about to head off to Hogwarts with Sirius the Grim as his familiar (even though his uncle had bought a snowy white owl to be Harry's pet). At last he had been reunited with his son, even if Cepheus didn't know that yet, but this knowledge made something within Sirius die, even as his heart felt lighter than it had in eleven years.

If Cepheus was here, where was Harry?

_XXX_

The Hogwarts Express was a beautiful sight, Harry thought to himself. His family were hovering at his back, eyes wide and awed, and Padfoot (who Harry had fondly nicknamed Crouch in honour of his perhaps real family) waited patiently at his side. Hedwig was in her cage and his uncle had hold of her. Harry had shrunken his trunk and tucked it into his trouser pocket, because he couldn't see the point of dragging it around behind him when he could just make it smaller and lighter and easier to transport.

There were so many people gathered around, hugging and kissing goodbye or standing and nodding at one another. Purebloods, half-bloods, Mudbloods: so many different kinds of people, Harry thought. A girl with frizzy hair and Gryffindor robes rushed by him, two Muggles awkwardly making their way after her. She was a Muggleborn, Harry thought, knowing just by the look of her and the way she acted. The Purebloods stood silent and still, proud of who they were and knowing they were better than everyone else. Harry wanted to be like them, composed and in control, and powerful even though he already was that, he wanted it to be known. He wanted it to be known that he was better than all the rest, he was special, important.

He had bought the holly and phoenix feather wand that should have belonged to Harry Potter. He wasn't a Horcrux; he didn't contain a part of the Dark Lord's soul within him, linking and binding them both together. But rather, he was the Dark Lord's equal, the other prophesised child, and having the brother wand of Lord Voldemort meant he was stronger than all of the others, if not better. But he could learn to be, Harry thought, he could learn to be better, he could study hard, practise well, and become great, just like Ollivander had said. He would do great things. He already knew more curses and spells than the rest of his year mates did, and he could cast them wandlessly. It wouldn't be much work to outstrip the second and third years, he told himself, nodding goodbye to his family as regally as he could manage, while taking Hedwig from his uncle's grasp.

He bumped into a blonde boy just as he was nearing the carriage he had picked. Both looked at each other warily, eyes flicking up and down the others' person.

"Is that a Grim?" The blonde exclaimed, looking horrified.

"Actually, he's a Labrador cross. We had the vet check." The Dursleys had done no such thing, and yes Sirius was a Grim and Harry knew that, but he wasn't about to tell people that and risk them locking his familiar up or putting him down.

"Who's we?" The blonde asked spitefully, "your Muggle mummy and daddy? Are you a Mudblood?" He chuckled; obviously quite pleased with the insults he had come up with.

Harry sighed, his tongue flicking out to wet the corner of his lips. Lucius and Narcissa watched the interaction; Lucius recognizing the Grim at the boy's side and Narcissa recognizing Lily's Muggle sister from Severus' description, and yet this boy wasn't Harry Potter. He did not look nothing like James, nor did he have the lightning bolt scar that the Aurors had claimed was given to him by Voldemort's curse.

"Actually," Harry said, smirking widely, "I'm Lord Voldemort. I took possession of Potter's body after I killed his filthy Mudblood mother, and now I exist once more, stronger than ever, more secure in my power. Won't you bow to your master, child?" The wand was pressed to Draco's cheek and the child's grey eyes had grown wide with fear.

"He's teasing you," Petunia said, striding forward hurriedly to push Harry's arm down. "Stop it, now, before someone takes you seriously." Harry went to open his mouth again, but Petunia knew what he was about to do and covered it with her hand.

There had once been three brothers. All three of them had descended from Salazar Slytherin. One of them had continued to interbreed, until eventually the Gaunts bred themselves out of existence with the exception of the half-blood Tom Riddle. Another descended from Ignotus, that line ending with the death of Harry Potter. But the last, the middle brother, he had been a Black.

"No hissing," Petunia hissed in his ear. "Not around all of these people." While Petunia didn't know where the ability to speak Parseltongue had come from, she did know, from what Lily had told her of her world that it was looked down upon. The only other known Wizard to speak it had been Lord Voldemort himself. "No hissing."

"No hissing," Harry agreed softly, looking a little ashamed of himself. "And I'm sorry for talking about your sister like that."

Draco swallowed heavily as he watched. Sirius waited tensely at Harry's side as Lucius came forward. He had recognized the Grim and he had recognized the tell, that of Harry licking the corner of his mouth while nervous: Barty Jr. had often done the same while he waited out the Death Eater meetings. This boy was not Harry Potter; he was not Sirius' godson, so he could only be one other person to have the man risk the Dementors Kiss by keeping so close to him.

"Draco," Lucius chided, his hand falling on his son's shoulder, "Cepheus, do try to get along. After all, you are cousins." And then he steered his son back towards the train, just as the whistle blew. Lucius didn't know if Harry knew, but at least it would give the boy something to think about.

_XXX_

Remus wasn't sure what to think of the boy. He was nothing like Remus had thought he would be. He actually reminded the Werewolf more of Severus Snape than he did either Lily or James. Harry had started in his first year, despite being thirteen years old, and the Gryffindors seemed to hate him, but strangely enough the Slytherins seemed to fear him, more than likely due to Draco Malfoy's obsession with staying at far from the other boy as possible. They shared a common room and their dormitories were close by, but Draco had forced his father to petition the Board of Governors to move the third year dorm further away, or so Severus had told him, just so he wouldn't have to sleep near Harry.

Like Severus, Harry was avoided by his housemates and his year mates. He knew more spells than he should have, and worryingly the majority of them were Dark spells. But fortunately, Snape seemed to have taken Harry under his wing, finding the child too much like himself to continue considering him the spoilt progeny of the dead James Potter. They spoke sometimes, at night alone in Severus' office, and Harry knew that he had once been a Death Eater but never told another soul. Other times, Severus took him out to the Forest on 'detention' and taught him magic, the kind they didn't teach at Hogwarts.

And yet, Harry had never once come to visit Remus, no matter how many times Remus had invited him. Not even when Remus had confided what he was friends with Harry's parents. He just didn't seem interested, until Remus mentioned that he also knew Sirius Black. Harry had asked about him after class a lot, waiting until the rest of the first years left, and turning to hear what Remus would tell him. Remus had made the mistake of denouncing Sirius one time, and Harry had walked out of the room and avoided Defence Against the Dark Arts for almost a month.

It was late May by the time Remus decided he had had enough. The Weasley Twins may have stolen Sirius' copy of the Marauders Map from Filch (and later been _Imperioed_ into giving it to Harry, though no one knew that) but Remus still had his own copy. He had sent a letter to Gringotts, where he owned one very small vault that held little money but many items that were precious to him. They had mailed the map back.

Remus had opened it, whispered, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good", and waited. There he was, Harry Potter; his footsteps out by the shrieking shack, pacing back and forth and then stilling, and beside him, Remus realized with a jolt of fear and confusion was Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew.

Unfortunately for Sirius, Remus arrived at the shrieking shack just in time to cause a distraction and allow Peter to escape. The tip of Harry's wand glowed green, the Killing Curse on the tip of his tongue, but then he calmed, staring at his professor in his usual aloof manner. "Am I to be given detention now? Because if so I'd rather it be with Professor Snape, than you, Lupin, no offence."

Sirius didn't like how his son was friends with Snape. And he didn't like how Dark the boy appeared to be. But Cepheus was still his son, and he had missed too much of his life to miss out on more now because of his own fears and beliefs regarding the Dark Arts. The Blacks had always been a Dark family until Sirius himself arrived, and Harry's other father was a Death Eater, and proudly so. Sirius should have expected this to happen. But it didn't matter, he thought, reaching out and gripping his son's shoulder.

"Remus, I'd like to introduce you to Cepheus Bartemius Black, my son. He was born in Azkaban."

Remus slid down the wall slowly, his heart racing and his mind numb as his legs gave out. He crouched on the floor, unable to believe this. Sirius had been in the castle the whole time. How had he not recognized Padfoot? Had he just not wanted to, or had he wanted to believe Harry when the boy promised he owned a Muggle dog? How could he have not realized this wasn't Harry Potter? Everyone else seemed to have, even Snape, who was originally so blinded by his prejudices and his hatred. No one spoke of it, of course, but no one of the teachers except Remus had really believed this was Harry Potter.

"Where's Harry?" Remus whispered.

"Dead," Sirius told him calmly. He had found out around Yule, and had had time to mourn and come to terms with the death of another little boy he had never gotten the chance to watch grow up. "He died the night Voldemort attacked," Sirius added, though he didn't say whether Voldemort had killed him or not because he didn't know.

Remus looked at Harry, at Cepheus even, and Cepheus stared back silently. His tongue flicked out, and licked at the edge of his mouth once just before a smirk curved up the edges of his lips. "I would appreciate, Professor, if you kept this information to yourself. I am disliked enough as it is by my classmates without them knowing I am the son of a Death Eater and of an apparent mass murderer."

"Apparently?" Remus whispered. "You didn't do it?"

"Trust a Gryffindor to only hear what they want to hear," Harry muttered to himself, slinking away from them as Sirius began to explain how he was framed and how Cepheus' conception came to be.

Harry watched them silently, wondering what this would mean for himself. His father was growing used to his tendencies now, but would re-friending a Gryffindor pull Sirius Black back towards the Light? "Hopefully not," he said to himself, going unheard by the adult Wizards. He pulled a crumpled letter from his pocket, glancing at it quickly before tucking it away. Lucius Malfoy had invited him to the Quidditch World Cup final this summer with his own family. But Harry glanced at Sirius, and Remus, and then thought about his aunt and wondered if the invitation extended to _his_ family too?

Imagine, the stir it would cause, showing up at an International and political event with a family of Muggles in tow. Harry grinned to himself, chuckling lightly, and decided against it. Despite how amusing it might have been, Lucius' letter had left him with the feeling that something bad (or good depending on your point of view) would happen at the match, and Harry didn't want to be responsible for the deaths of those that had raised him, even if they were only Muggles.

**XXX**

Only one more chapter to go! We finally get to meet Barty again, and Voldemort too, so see you then. Let me know what you think of this chapter! I could not find a decent way to end it, so I hope it's ok the way it is.


	4. Chapter 4 of 4

Ugh the timeline in this is fucked. I think I've done it all backwards… Ugh. I'll make it work.

Also, people, seriously, how dead does Harry need to be before you realize he wouldn't be showing up at Hogwarts? As far as everyone is concerned, Cepheus IS Harry! No one knows he is meant to have a scar except Dumbledore (who is the one lying to everyone) and the Aurors who were Obliviated! It was mentioned in their report, but mistakes happen and scars fade over time. No one knows Cepheus exists either (except his parents, and Dumbledore). He is Harry. Even Voldemort thinks he is Harry, so it doesn't matter that he wasn't the one to destroy Voldemort's body; he still thinks he was.

**Words: ** 4,973

**Chapter 4/4**

Professor Moody watched him a lot, Harry noticed. It was a little strange, unnerving, but the man offered him extra lessons and never touched him, so Harry couldn't really fault him for being a creepy pedophile. He could look, the boy thought chuckling to himself, as long as he never touched.

Moody pulled the thought from Harry's mind, their eyes meeting accidentally just at the right moment, and he threw his head back and laughed. The rest of the Slytherins and Gryffindors in the classroom froze, glancing warily around in an attempt to spot what had amused their insane professor. Harry sat silently, surrounded by second years, but alone at the same time because there was an empty desk on either side of him. Moody waved his wand, quieting and drawing the attention of the class back onto himself.

"Where was I?" He asked, his voice raspy but soft. His tongue flicked out, wetting one corner of his mouth before he swallowed. Harry narrowed his green eyes at the action: it was very familiar, yet he couldn't quite recall where he had seen it before. Who else acted that way? Who else had such a tell? "Ah yes, the Unforgivables! You, there, tell me about them!"

"T-T-the Cru-uci-Cruci-" One Gryffindor stuttered.

"The Cruciatus, the Imperious and the Killing Curse. Incantations: _Crucio_, _Imperio_ and of course _Avada Kedavra_. You know what each of them does, I assume," Harry said. He spoke softly, and kept his head bowed but Moody met his eyes again, a brief glimpse of green through a dark fringe of hair. Harry was overwhelmed by the image of a baby, so small and pale, held between the arms of two men, and he shook his head. He glanced away from Moody, wondering silently who the man had been thinking about? Who was that baby, because Alastor Moody had never had any children, had he?

Professor Moody, who wasn't really Professor Moody at all, clenched his hands by his sides. His cheeks were flushed red and his lips were pressed into a thin line, and his one real eye avoided Harry for the first time since the start of the school year, while the magical, fake eye continued to swirl violently in its socket.

That was his boy. Bartemius was sure of it, completely sure.

The magical eye could read his aurar, and it was darker then the son of two Light people should have been. He had heard rumours, of Harry Potter, so many rumours; of him being raised by Muggles, of being loved and protected, of being hidden away to be kept safe, too ill and fragile to attend Hogwarts on time. Yet this boy didn't look ill. He was small, for a supposedly fourteen year old, but he was the perfect size for a boy of twelve. His eyes weren't like Lily Potter's, no matter what that half-Giant kept muttering to him over breakfast. His hair wasn't like James'. Even Severus had noted once that his hair was more like Regulus Black's than it was James Potter's. The child had Sirius' brother's hair, and Barty's mother's eye colour; his aurar was so dark, so delicious, and when Barty flicked out his tongue again he imagined it would taste like Lord Voldemort, delectable. Dangerous.

It was, he supposed, a matter of nature versus nurture. Yet, Bartemius wasn't sure which one had won out.

Was Harry- _Cepheus_ dark enough to risk exposing himself to? Or would Harry Potter turn him over to the Aurors?

Barty had seen him at the Quidditch World Cup. The boy had been lying on the ground, unconscious but uninjured otherwise. His eyes had fluttered open just as the Dark Mark had shot into the sky, and instead of running or screaming or attacking the Death Eater, Cepheus had simply glanced up at the sky and smiled. It was then that Bartemius realized he had stolen his son's wand, and he had handed it over silently with narrowed eyes as Harry gracefully accepted it back with a smile.

"Is he back?" Harry had asked then. His eyes had been hooded, his fringe falling over his scar-less forehead and Barty tried to glimpse beneath the fringe, to spot the rumoured scar that marked the Saviour, but he couldn't see it.

Barty had glanced around, seeing no one in sight. His tongue had flicked out, mimicked by Harry's tongue wetting the corner of his own mouth, and he shrugged with a grin, "you'll see, Potter." He ran then, not looking back to see Harry's reaction nor noticing Barty Crouch Sr. approaching the young boy cautiously.

"Crouch," Harry greeted softly, still staring after the man's son. Was this his grandfather, he wondered?

The clearing of Professor Moody's throat snapped Harry back to attention. Most of the seats were empty now, his classmates filing out of the Defence classroom door. Harry glanced around at the two remaining students, both children of convicted Death Eaters, both of whom Harry knew to be taking extra lessons from Moody. Harry took a few as well, but mostly they stuck to defensive magic and the odd bit of circumstantial theory. Severus generally taught Harry the darker material, late at night and secluded in the Forbidden Forest where no one would catch them breaking the law.

"Potter," Moody called over to him, just as the other two boys stood up. "I'm offering these two extra classes, and I'm extending that offer to you."

"What are we learning?" Harry asked, looking curious and unafraid, despite the glares his fellow Slytherin second years were sending him. He brushed off the looks, ignored the harsh thoughts and words they usually directed his way and stood up straighter. Like Severus, like the young Lord Voldemort, he would prevail; he would be tough and resilient and never bend. He would do great things.

Barty knew he was taking a big risk. He wasn't sure how Harry would react, but he needed to know. He couldn't wait any longer to know if there was a chance he could claim his son back, or whether the world had really stolen his child away from him for good. "The Unforgivables."

The other three waited silently, tense and anxious, but Harry only smiled. It wasn't a pleasant smile by any stretch of the imagination; in fact, his lips curled back to bear his top row of teeth and he looked more like a starving animal than a happy child. Harry glanced at each of his year mates slowly, taking one in completely and then the other and he grinned once more at his mother. "Will there be demonstrations?" He asked coyly, nodding his head at the two trembling twelve year olds at his side.

Barty grinned back, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips.

_XXX_

He had forgotten. Barty couldn't believe he had forgotten! The whole reason he was at Hogwarts in the first place was to rig the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and now that Dumbledore was about to pick the names of the champions it was too late to do anything. He had forgotten his task, forgotten his duties to his Lord, all because he had found his son. He had followed the earlier instructions: he had placed 'Harry Potter' into the cup, long before the other schools had arrived at Hogwarts, but then he had forgotten. It was too late to warn his son, too late to deter Dumbledore, too late to beg his Lord for mercy on his child's behalf. His son would be thrown to the proverbial wolves and would either be tortured and killed by Lord Voldemort or would survive and never forgive his mother.

And Sirius…

Sirius Black who was hiding within Hogwarts as Harry's pet Labrador would never forgive him either. The same Sirius who had fathered his child, and held him and kissed him through the labour and the long, desolate nights in Azkaban; Sirius, who he had left behind; Sirius, who had wanted to find but couldn't because he owed his Lord his life first and foremost. Sirius, Barty thought sadly, who had found him in Harry's dorm room and kissed him softly, whispering "I'm glad you're alright" against his mouth before kissing him again, as Harry watched with a blush.

He met Harry's gaze. The boy was staring up at him from the front of the Slytherin table, surrounded by the Durmstrang students because they were the only ones who didn't know to be afraid of him or had learnt to avoid him. Barty turned his face away, trying not to let tears come to his eyes.

The Goblet of Fire churned once, sparks and flames shooting up from the top of it. A piece of paper fluttered down along with the ashes. Dumbledore reached out to catch it and he smiled as he said, "and the Durmstrang Champion is… Viktor Krum!" Fleur Delacor, of Beauxbaton, was next, followed by Cedric Diggory from Hufflepuff in Hogwarts. And then the Goblet sparked to life once more, and a horrible silence overtook the Great Hall.

Barty couldn't bear to watch. He bit down on his lip, waiting with his hands clenched together in his lap, for the words that would kill any sort of relationship he might have had with his family.

"Cepheus Black?" Dumbledore read out, looking stunned. Of course he knew who Cepheus was. There was only one child that had been fathered by either male Black during this generation, and Cepheus must have been the name Sirius had given him while still in Azkaban. But Cepheus wasn't at Hogwarts. Dumbledore's eyes landed on Harry Potter, waiting to see what the boy would do, to learn how much the boy knew of his true self. But Harry didn't move. He glanced around the hall with the same curious and baffled expression as everyone else, and Dumbledore gave a relieved sigh as he tucked the piece of paper into his robe pocket.

Bartemius looked around wide eyed. He had definitely written 'Harry Potter' on the piece of parchment. So why did Cepheus' name come out, he wondered. But of course, he realized, remembering what Sirius had told him, remembering what he had yet to pass on to his Lord. Harry Potter was dead. There was no Harry Potter to call upon, but the boy who falsely bore that name. As a magical item of such power, the Goblet had the ability to know a person's true name. That was why someone under the age of seventeen (as per this year's rules) couldn't enter under someone else's name. Cepheus had been called out, because that was Harry's true name, and Dumbledore couldn't act upon that without unraveling the web of lies he had been weaving for years.

"It must have been a mistake," Dumbledore whispered to Crouch Sr. and Ludo Bagman. Both were waiting behind him, one looking nervous and the other annoyed. "Must have been left over from the last tournament. There hasn't been a Cepheus Black for centuries!"

And there hadn't been, Sirius conceded, hidden beneath the dining table in his Grim form. Well, he amended, not unless you counted the child who had been kept hidden. He glanced through Harry's legs and towards his lover at the Head Table. The man would have some explaining to do, Sirius thought, moving back so he could lick at the ankles of his very tense and angry son.

Boy, would Barty have some explaining to do.

_XXX_

Harry paused outside of the entrance to the maze. The maze was essentially several exceptionally large bushes, grown purposely throughout the Quidditch pitch solely to be used in the third task of the Tournament. The take wasn't until the following day, and Harry knew that no one would be around investigating it in the meantime. There were who knew what kind of creatures and plants trapped within the maze, and even if the Headmasters had let slip to their Champions what the last task was, no one would be stupid enough to risk any sort of practise without several adults on standby.

Barty and Sirius waited behind Harry.

Apparently he was just stupid enough to risk the contents of the maze. He didn't have to. He wasn't a part of the tournament, and he wouldn't win any gold or any trophies for what he was doing. But he and his father had listened calmly to Barty after his true name had been called from the Goblet, and Harry had had months to think it over. This was what Barty had planned all along. For a fourteen year old Harry Potter to be a part of this tournament, fighting alongside seventeen and eighteen year olds for the chance of fame and glory, where the winner would take the gold, the trophy, the praise, and would be used as a sacrifice in a ritual to return Lord Voldemort to a body. That winner had always been intended to be Harry. Only Harry's blood would have worked in the ritual.

"Remember," Barty repeated, running a hand lovingly down his son's cheek. "Act unwilling. If he thinks you are willing then the ritual won't work. Don't let it slip you are not Potter, until after the ritual if need be. Be reasonable, defer to our Lord, and he will be reasonable in return."

"Be safe," Sirius whispered. He had begged to go along, but Harry hadn't wanted him in danger and Barty couldn't guarantee that Voldemort would allow two enemies to leave alive. One was already asking too much.

But there was something about Cepheus. Something unusual but familiar, and Barty had a hunch that the Dark Lord would notice it too. Silently, he hoped it would be enough for the man to spare his son.

Harry nodded once, hugged each of his parents lightly, and turned to enter the maze.

"I'll be with you," Barty promised. He held out Moody's wand, and a path opened in the bushes. Harry could walk almost the whole way through to the centre of the maze as long as his mother kept the spell activated. There were spells in place to stop that sort of cheating from happening, but it only applied to students. The Professors were easily able to overcome those charms and protections on the off chance that a Champion needed urgent attention and Barty utilized that loophole now in order to give his son a fighting chance against Lord Voldemort. Harry would hold out better it he wasn't exhausted and injured.

The bushes were thick and whole closer to the trophy though. The spell wasn't able to reach that far. As a Sphinx stepped out from behind one of the bushes, Harry sighed. He really hated riddles.

_XXX_

Wormtail carried the homunculus carefully, cradled in his arms as if it were a real baby. The alarms around Riddle Manor had gone off, and though he had been content to search alone Lord Voldemort had insisting on being the one to deal with the intruder. The man was trapped in a clay body, given life through Alchemy, and looked no older than a one year old child, and yet he could still perform magic and use his wand and generally instill terror in Peter Pettigrew. Bartemius Crouch Jr. had never really seemed afraid of the man. When he had arrived at the Manor under a year ago he had seemed awed and amazed, continuously reaching out to touch his Lord but stopping himself at the last moment. Whereas, from the moment Peter had found Voldemort wandering as a spirit in Albania, he had yet to stop trembling.

"My Lord?" He whispered.

Voldemort turned in his arms, head facing outwards to glance at the lone figure that waited in the graveyard.

There was a large cauldron beside one of the graves, and the soil of that grave had been displaced, but the boy glanced calmly around as if he knew exactly where he was. But then he turned and caught sight of the man coming towards him.

"You!" Harry yelled. He hadn't been warned about Pettigrew. Perhaps his mother thought his acting would be better if he didn't actually have to act. Hatred burned in his eyes and his chest was tight and heavy as breath came faster to him. Harry held out his wand, pointing it between Peter's eyes, but the man had already cast a spell at him. Harry found himself flying backwards, knocking into a gravestone with enough force to make him dizzy. Ropes appeared, snaking around his arms and legs, and shackling him to the stone. His wand had fallen to the ground upon impact, and Harry shook his head to clear it, even as his thoughts rushed wildly through his brain.

"How dare you!" Harry hissed again, eyes narrowed as he struggled with his ropes. "What do you think you're doing? Stop it! Let me go!"

Wormtail ignored him. He made his way to the cauldron, and unwrapped Voldemort from the blanket before tossing him inside. A clank of something hard meeting pewter broke the sudden silence and Voldemort let out an angry hiss of pain. Peter gulped, and hurried to start the ritual before he could be punished. It passed, in a blur of feigned terror and protest, although the terror was actually quite real but Harry would never tell anyone that. He struggled more than he should have; enjoying the one good head-butt he managed to land to Pettigrew's chin. Voldemort watched him from the cauldron, his eyes barely able to peek over the top as his fingers clung to the sides. Harry met his eyes and, just as Peter added the last ingredient, just as the potion began to take effect, he smirked.

Voldemort waited, naked but unaffected by the cold as the cauldron melted around his legs until it was little more than liquid on the ground. He glanced around, running his hands over his face which was thin and pale with hollowed cheeks; his torso which started off broad and tapered in at the waist, long and lean and defined; he patted at his thighs, muscled and trembling from excitement. Harry couldn't tear his eyes away from the man's groin, even though Voldemort himself failed to examine that area. His face flushed, as the Dark Lord looked over at him, knowing exactly where Harry was staring.

"Mine isn't that big," Harry whispered and then immediately looked mortified.

"You are fourteen. Of course it isn't." Voldemort commented matter-of-factly, as he glanced over his shoulder at Peter. The man appeared with a cloak and Voldemort's wand, handing one over after the other and moving back silently.

"I'm twelve actually." Harry pointed out. He was still tied to the gravestone, but he had stopped his useless struggles. He was still afraid, of course he was, but he tried harder to hide it, and he would have succeeded if only for the fact that Voldemort had glanced straight into his eyes.

The Dark Lord pulled back with narrowed red eyes. He was bald, and his nose was strangely flattened with slits for nostrils, like a snake; it wasn't much to look at, but Harry could feel the power and the magic rolling off of the elder man, and it called to his own like a siren. The closer Voldemort came to him, the more Harry arched towards him, mouth slack and eyes hooded.

"**Closer. More.**" Harry hissed, inadvertently slipping into Parseltongue.

Voldemort froze. He had one hand half raised to grip Harry's chin, and the other held his wand firmly, but at Harry's words he stopped. He lowered his free hand again, tilting his head to one side in thought. "You are not Harry Potter."

"What makes you think that?" Harry asked. His chest was heaving, but not from fear. Instead it was from the rush of desire that he couldn't begin to understand, from the taste of Voldemort's magic and the buzz of it across his skin. But his fear was most certainly gone now.

"I can smell it on you." The Dark Lord flicked his tongue out, and Harry was a little disappointed to note that it wasn't forked, like he had been expecting. "Dark magic, and so much of it on one so young. Twelve, you say? You are certain that you are only twelve? Too young, too young to be Potter," he whispered, the words trailing off into silence as Lord Voldemort turned away.

"Untie him," he ordered the lone Death Eater.

Harry waited until he was freed from his bonds and until Peter had slunk back into the shadows before he acted. Voldemort tensed as Harry moved, but the boy merely sunk to one knee, bowing his head low before the Dark Lord. "Permit me to introduce myself, my Lord."

Voldemort raised a hairless eyebrow. It was more of a line on his forehead that arched just above the eye as his face took on a surprised expression. One of pleasure crossed it soon after as the boy continued to bow in silence, waiting for permission to speak.

"**Yes. Tell Lord Voldemort exactly who you are young one**." He drew out the 's' and almost chuckled at the full body shudder that Pettigrew failed to suppress. Potter didn't look afraid though: his pupils had blown wide and his lips parted to let his tongue pass, wetting the edges of his mouth and disappearing back inside. Voldemort, for one moment, found himself regretting that this boy _wasn't_ fourteen. Fourteen was acceptable; twelve was undeniably too young.

"My name is Cepheus Bartemius Black. You know my mother, of course; he was returned to your services earlier this year." Voldemort's eye narrowed again. He understood to whom Harry was referring, and he glanced the boy over, trying to spot any similarities. "And my father, well, obviously he was a Black if that is my surname. Sirius Black, to be specific. They met, in the most unlikeliest of places, in Azkaban."

"In Azkaban?" That was not something he had been expecting. Perhaps to have been told that Sirius had secretly joined his side, or that Barty had been momentarily weak and sided with the enemy as the conception occurred, but no, because that would still make Cepheus too young. "You were born in Azkaban?"

"I was there less than ten minutes before the guards took me to St Mungos. I was premature. By the time I was stable enough to survive unaided by magic, Dumbledore took it upon himself to place me with Harry Potter's Muggle family, so desperate was he for his saviour to live on."

"_Muggles_?" The man hissed. "The son of one of Lord Voldemort's Death Eaters, of one of my favourites, the most loyal, was sent to live with Muggles?"

Harry laughed softly, voice childish and unbroken. "That was my mother's reaction as well. But they weren't so bad. They knew I wasn't actually related to them, I was just some kid being played and manipulated like they were. I've always wondered though; if I really were the son of perfect Lily and James would they have hated me on principle? I suppose it doesn't matter. You are back now, aren't you? And mother will be by your side as he wishes to be, and I will be beside him, with him and not the Muggles. I think," He glanced at Voldemort who was watching his silently, "I might actually miss them, so do try not to kill them, ok?" Harry grinned then, and Voldemort found his other eyebrow rising, shocked at the cheek of the boy before him.

"So unafraid, so confident," he murmured, finally reaching out to cup Harry's cheek. Electricity shot through his hand, and Voldemort pulled back as if burnt. He glanced from his hand to Harry's face and frowned.

"Actually, I'm terrified. I'm relying on the fact that you generally seemed to have cared about my mother, you know, so that you won't kill me. You aren't going to kill me, are you?" Harry's eyes were suddenly wide, and he took a step back and Voldemort could finally see the scared little boy beneath the façade. Harry didn't even look twelve, so how anyone could mistake him for a teenager was beyond the Dark Lord.

"No." He reached for Harry's chin again; thumb stroking along one cheek and down to his top lip. "You will amuse me for many years to come, I'm certain, Cepheus." Harry was about to chide him for using his name without permission, and then suddenly remembered who this was, this man before him, who could destroy him so easily with just a word. But Voldemort seemed to have known what Harry had been thinking, because he threw his head back and laughed, loudly, before pressing a soft kiss to Harry's unblemished forehead. "See, once more you've amused me."

"Laughter makes you live longer, or something," Harry offered up shyly, taken back by the unexpected kiss. His parents kissed his cheek all the time, and aunt Petunia had done it often enough too, but coming from this man it seemed _different_. It made Harry feel special and it made his cheeks burn with pleasure, and he tilted his face up hoping for another.

"Then I suppose you must make me laugh forever, Cepheus."

"Yes, my Lord," the boy whispered, his head still tilted back, eyes on Voldemort's mouth as they curved up into a smirk.

The thumb was back on Harry's lip again, and as Harry stuck his tongue out to wet the corner of his mouth, he brushed against Voldemort's digit, and they both froze. They watched each other in silence, ignoring Wormtail who was staring at them in horror and confusion, before Voldemort finally pulled himself away from the child. He couldn't quite decide if the boy was dangerous or not: anyone who had that sort of affect over him, that much of a pull on his magic, was a danger, and yet, he seemed so true and trusting, and he was Barty's son. The same Barty who loved _him_ like a father, so would that not make Cepheus his grandson? Why then, did Lord Voldemort want to steal another kiss, this time from his lips?

"Too young," Voldemort murmured to himself. He summoned the Portkey towards himself. The trophy flew forward, landing on the ground beside Harry's feet. "Back to Hogwarts with you, young one. Your… mother will hear from me soon regarding his next set of instructions. Tell him that… I am pleased. You have both done well."

He turned his back on Harry, ignoring the pull of the child's magic, the way it tried to twine with his own. He drew his magic back into himself, listening in the silence to the sounds of Wormtail panting and Harry's clothes rustling as he bent down for the Portkey. Then he was gone.

Lord Voldemort turned around, wand outstretched and a smile on his lip-less mouth. "Wormtail, your arm." The cowering Death Eater held out the arm he had severed the hand from during the ritual, and Voldemort sneered at it, disgusted at the sight. "Your other arm, Wormtail." With a whimper of pain and disappointment, the Wizard complied.

Voldemort's wand touched the Dark Mark on Peter's arm, and pain lanced through his limb. Across Britain, several others fell to their knees as pain shot through them, strong and angry, calling them back together, united once more under the Dark Mark. Each of them knew what they had suspected since the start of the year to be true, utterly and completely true. The Dark Lord was back.

_XXX_

The Portkey dropped Harry back into the maze roughly. Obviously, at the time the Portkey was spelled, Voldemort hadn't cared about the condition of Harry's corpse's return. Fortunately for him, as he was only twelve and not ready to die, that meeting had turned out rather well.

Harry placed the trophy back onto its pedestal. It glowed blue momentarily, and the child shielded his eyes until the light faded. He smiled to himself; his mother was smart, Harry thought, the spell had dissipated once the Portkey had done its job. No one would be able to use that trophy to find the Dark Lord, not after Harry had already used it.

The Sphinx was watching him, Harry realized when he turned around. For a moment he wondered if he had to answer another riddle, but then the creature simply moved out of his way and lay down upon the ground. "What were you doing, human?" It asked curiously as Harry walked passed.

"I wanted to see what would happen," Harry answered, being partially honest, but not completely so just in case the creature decided to tell on him. He could easily pass this off as Professor Moody giving him extra lessons, and him ending up lost in the maze; if he cried or acted stupid, he was bound to get away with it. He was their Saviour after all, why else would he have been in the maze? He was hardly there to help Lord Voldemort, now was he?

Harry made his way quickly back the way he came, surprised to notice that Barty had kept he holes in the bushes open for his return. The man must have been very confident that Lord Voldemort would return his son to have used up so much magic unnecessarily.

"Harry," the man in question whispered as the child appeared at the entrance to the maze. "Cepheus, my Cepheus." Sirius stood beside him, one arm around Barty's narrower waist. They both smiled at him.

Harry glanced once over his shoulder, wondering what Voldemort was doing now that Harry had gone back to school, and then he looked back at his parents, his family, his home. And he smiled.

**The End**

Thank you all for reading, and especially to those who reviewed. Feel free to ask questions, but if anyone asks if Harry (who is dead) will be in the sequel, just know I'll ignore you.

There will be a sequel (LV/Cepheus!Harry) but I don't know when because I can't remember what my plot for it was, sigh. It is titled **Fate Favours the Bold**, and I don't know how long it will be.


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